


Holiday Parties

by hikorichan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Party, F/M, Light BDSM, Mistletoe, New Year's Eve, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Smutty Claus 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikorichan/pseuds/hikorichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione normally avoided parties. At least, that was before one Christmas with Severus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was written for articcat421 for 2015 Smutty Claus fest on Livejournal. Given the name of the fest, you can safely conclude there will be lemons. A warning for hints of light BDSM and primal, rough sex.  
> Thank you to my betas AdelaideArcher and MelodyLePetit.

**Chapter 1: Mistletoe**

Hermione stared with trepidation at the festive wreath that hung around the curling serpent knocker on the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

She’d been standing in the cold for ten minutes already. 

She hadn’t been to the annual Order of the Phoenix Christmas party in four years. Actually, she hadn’t been to any parties. Not since her last Christmas party, when she’d made the terrible mistake of sleeping with Charlie Weasley. While she was still dating Ron. With the rest of the Weasleys and the Order just downstairs. 

Even now, she could barely believe she’d done it. She’d been plastered, of course, and furious with Ron after what had become daily arguments about their future; but she knew that was no excuse.

Charlie had fucked off back to Romania, of course. She’d been left with hurt stares and bubbling anger from the rest of the red-headed clan. Not that she believed she deserved better. Her apologies—profuse as they were—could not heal the trauma she’d caused, so she did her best to stay away rather than reopen old wounds. Seeing as they shared all the same friends, socialising on a whole became rather difficult. Hence, no parties.

So it was against her better judgement that she stood on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place once more. It seemed that even at 23, she was loathe to disobey a directive from her old Head of House—that and the fact Minerva seemed entirely serious when she threatened to permanently transfigure Hermione into a housecoat if she didn’t show up. 

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she grasped the silver doorknob and pushed. 

The hum of voices immediately filled her eardrums, echoing in long front hall. They seemed to be coming from two directions: down the corridor from the kitchen, and upstairs from the sitting room off the first floor landing. 

She peered to the right, pleased to see nothing but a rectangle of black curtains where Walburga Black’s portrait hung against the wall. Carefully Hermione took off her cloak and hung it with the rest on the wall opposite to the curtained portrait, shoving it between a blue duffle coat and a brown trench. 

She gazed down the corridor, then up the garland-festooned staircase, wondering which group was less likely to have a Weasley present. Deciding that Ron would want to stay close to the food, she took the steps up to the first floor, pausing at the top to peer carefully around the bannister. If she could just get a look into the room… 

“Working on a new career as a spy, Miss Granger?” a low voice spoke in her ear, making her squeak and nearly topple down the staircase. A pair of firm hands steadied her, and she stabilised herself against the railing. Looking up, she found Severus Snape standing on the step below her. Tea for one hung in the air behind his right shoulder. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, a blush curling up her cheeks in embarrassment. 

Snape frowned, his eyes growing cold. “I am a member of the Order, am I not?” 

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s not what I meant,” she said flatly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that!”

Snape’s frown evened by a few millimetres. “I believe you were the one trying to be sneaky,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, well…” Hermione’s eyes dropped to her left shoe. He was right, she supposed. She heard Severus sigh. 

“Go down the hall and into the library.” He motioned towards the corridor to their right. 

“Why?”

“There are approximately five Weasleys in that room there, and the rest are in the kitchen. I believe I am, to use a cliché, the lesser of evils.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned scarlet, her eyes going wide. Did everyone know what she’d done?

“ _Go_ , Miss Granger. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Apparently, Hermione had trouble disobeying orders from _all_ her old professors. She tiptoed down the hall, glancing over her shoulder twice before opening the door to the library.

The room was much cleaner than it used to be, Harry having done some renovations in the years since the war. Four red velvet armchairs circled a large mahogany fireplace, the only bit of wall besides the single sash window opposite not covered floor to ceiling with crammed bookshelves. 

Hermione let out a breath, feeling more relaxed in the presence of her best and oldest friends. 

She turned toward the nearest shelf, running her fingers over the spines of the leather and cloth-bound tomes. This section was mostly children’s stories, as hard as it was for Hermione to imagine the shrieking bigot at the bottom of the stairs reading bedtime stories to her sons. 

A soft swoosh and a click of the door closing behind her alerted her to Snape’s presence, but she didn’t turn around, preferring the company of the books for the moment. Based on her previous experiences with the wizard, she wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t plan on insulting her for the remainder of the evening. 

Clinking and rustling came from the direction of the armchairs as Snape set down the tea, and Hermione moved onto the next shelf, this one containing what appeared to be a mix of literature and history. She frowned as she noticed _Beetles and Broomsticks_ by Barnaby Lick next to _Salem: Witches in the New World_ by Abigail Dean.

“I assume you are going mad thinking of how you might catalogue it all?” commented Snape in a silky baritone, appearing like a spectre behind her. She could only see the outline of his black robes in her peripheral vision, but she could feel him looming over her, making her nerves stand on edge. 

“What sort of person doesn’t put their library in any sort of order?” she huffed in reply. 

“Those who don’t care to read,” replied Snape smoothly, moving so he was standing beside her. She inspected his profile, dominated by his large nose; images of his face covered with blood and dripping silvery memories suddenly filled her mind, and she turned quickly back to the books. 

“Maybe they don’t read because they can’t find anything,” Hermione commented. 

“I assume your own library is organised to the last page?” asked Snape, appearing to scan the titles on the shelf.

“I use the same system as the Hogwarts library,” Hermione stated, as if it was the obvious choice. “Of course I don’t have nearly as many books as Hogwarts.”

“I find as a personal collector, one must focus on quality, rather than quantity,” said Snape, suddenly frowning. “This one, for example, would never come within three miles of my own collection.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow quizzically and looked at the crimson-covered book now held in Severus’s fingers as if it were diseased. 

Hermione snorted. “I’m not sure about _Desire on the Quidditch Pitch_ ,” she chortled, noticing a similar title over Snape’s arm, “but I think _A Dark Wizard’s Love_ might be worth reading.”

Snape’s head snapped towards her, eyes wide. Hermione grinned and plucked the book from Snape’s hand, pushing it back into the case next to the other. Snape’s shoulders drooped slightly, and he turned to face her. 

“I think you’ll find the shelves opposite more attuned to your tastes,” he said. 

“And what would you know of my tastes?” she asked, running a fingertip over the gold lettering on _A Wizard’s History of Europe_. “Did I hear you bring in tea?”

“On the table.”

Hermione smiled and moved to sit in one of the large armchairs, a flick of her wand setting the tea service to pouring cups of what smelled like peppermint for her and Snape. 

Snape took the cup that floated towards him as he settled into his chair. One long, black trouser-clad leg folded over the other, his elegant hand moving the china to rest upon his knee. Hermione peered at him from under her eyelashes. He looked much as she remembered him from school: long, lank hair, pale skin, and a willowy body. His dark irises glittered with orange flecks in the firelight. They flicked towards her, locking hers in a stare. Her heart quickened. She looked away. 

“Thank you for giving me a respite from the others,” she said slowly, cradling her teacup in her small hands. “I hope you don't mind me saying, but I'm rather surprised to see you here as well. Harry told me he doesn’t see you much anymore.”

“I was… convinced… that my presence tonight would be desirable,” replied Severus smoothly. “Perhaps they knew you’d be sneaking around,” he added with a smirk, his eyes glittering wickedly.

Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink as she contemplated the tea in her cup. 

“And what about you? I didn’t expect to see you here either, after…” he paused, seeming to reconsider bringing up her past again. 

Hermione smiled thankfully, raising her chocolate eyes to meet his. “When Minerva threatens transfiguration, one tends to do as one is told.”

A chuckle, soft and rumbling, made Hermione’s eyes widen.

"She threatened you too? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. She does enjoy meddling,” Severus mused with with a roll of his dark eyes. “Speaking of, she tells me I’m not the only one who's turned into a recluse.”

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.”

"What have you been doing, then, tucked away so no one would notice?”

Hermione thought for a moment, taking a sip of tea to mask her silence. “This and that,” she finally answered. 

“Ah, yes, this and that. My favourite pastimes,” Snape drawled sarcastically. 

Hermione snorted. Since when did Snape make jokes? 

She smiled. “Honestly, I spend a lot of time with my cat.”

“You seem far too young to have accepted life as a spinster,” commented Snape, his dark eyes glittering, making Hermione’s cheeks redden. 

“Thank you,” replied Hermione with a soft smile. “It isn’t a permanent lifestyle choice, but it suits me at the moment.”

“Are you sure about that?” Severus asked with an eyebrow quirked upwards into an arrow. 

“Fairly,” Hermione confirmed. Finished with her tea for the moment, she placed it on the table. “So what about you? What takes up your time?”

“Besides this and that?”

“Of course,” Hermione chortled with a nod.

“As I lack a feline companion, I spend a lot of time with books and cauldrons.”

“For work or pleasure?”

“They are one and the same, these days.”

“It’s nice that you’re working with potions again.”

“You are with the Ministry?” 

Hermione nodded. “In the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“Have you managed to free any house elves?”

Goodness, she wished Snape would stop making her blush! “I’ve submitted a few proposals to improve elf rights, but haven’t had much luck getting anything picked up for legislation.”

“I often find myself very glad I work alone.”

Hermione nodded, unsure of what else to say. Snape seemed content to return to gazing at the fire, so Hermione poured herself another cup of tea and then settled back in her chair to watch him—she hoped not too obviously. 

He looked relaxed, eyes not darting about the room but focused softly towards the fire. The orange flames reflected in his dark irises and cast shadows over his pale skin. Hermione wondered what caused him to invite her here tonight; perhaps he had simply taken pity on her as she stood pathetically on the stairs. 

Footsteps outside the door alerted Hermione to an intruder, her body tensing before Minerva blustered through the door.

“I should have guessed you would both be in here,” the old witch huffed, hands on the waist of her red and green plaid robes. 

“I have no intentions of spoiling the celebrations, Minerva,” drawled Severus cooly. 

“You would do no such thing! Everyone would love to see you.”

“Because nothing says Christmas cheer like small talk with your least liked acquaintance.” 

“Severus! You know none of us think that way.”

“Speak for yourself, witch.” 

“You are damnably stubborn, Severus Snape.”

“You’d have me no other way,” Severus retorted with a lazy flip of his hand. Hermione grinned behind her teacup, enjoying watching her ex-professors banter. 

Minerva turned towards her. “What about you, Hermione? There’s no reason for you to be locked up in here with Mister Ebenezer.”

“Bah humbug,” quipped Snape, and Hermione snorted. 

“Really, Minerva, I’d rather stay here,” she told the old witch. “Besides, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Hermione, how many times must I tell you? No one holds a grudge.”

“Except that Ron still won’t speak to me and Molly glares at me whenever we cross paths in Diagon Alley,” Hermione reminded her. 

“Yes, well… everyone else…”

“Give it up, Minerva,” growled Snape. “Miss Granger and I are perfectly happy here.”

“Fine. Well, at least you have each other, I suppose.” Minerva sighed, looking around the room. “But I insist this room be a little more festive.” She flicked her wand, and suddenly the bookshelves and mantle were lined with garlands made of pine boughs, holly berries, and gold twinkling lights; red baubles and small silvery fairies hung from the ceiling; and soft carols piped through the room. 

“Really, Minerva, this is quite unnecessary,” Severus said with a scowl, prodding a stray fairy away from his face.

“No arguments, Severus. It’s Christmas! You could use a little holiday cheer—and so could you, Hermione,” tutted the old witch. “Don’t let this old scrooge rub off on you too much. He is being kind to you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Minerva. I’m fine, really. Thank you,” replied Hermione with a smile.

“Happy Christmas you two,” said the witch, turning to leave. 

“Happy Christmas,” replied Hermione as Severus grunted and turned back towards the fire. 

Silence filled the room once more after Minerva closed the door behind her, except for the carols chiming softly in the background.

“Do you see Minerva often?” Hermione inquired after a few minutes, adjusting herself in her chair so one leg was tucked underneath her. 

“Only when she insists on bothering me.”

“Do you really prefer being alone?” Hermione asked, then sucked in a breath when Snape’s head snapped upwards. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Hermione stared at her teacup, hoping she hadn’t made Snape angry. He’d really been rather kind to her this evening, despite the occasional mild teasing. Her index finger circled the lip of the china cup, and she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Preference is an odd thing, I find,” came Snape’s voice several minutes later, his tone subdued, and she risked looking up. His expression was solemn, his face turned towards the fire. “Do I prefer being alone? Or is it simply what I have become accustomed to? I am not sure, nor do I think it matters much anymore.”

“Of course it matters,” said Hermione boldly. “I—I mean—I don’t think anyone truly _likes_ to be alone.”

Snape turned to gaze at her, his eyes cold and his face blank. “Then why do you hide?”

Hermione’s fingers gripped her teacup, flexing against the china. “Because it’s for the best,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want to hurt people.”

“So you hurt yourself?”

“Isn’t that what you do too?”

“For some of us, isolation is act of self-preservation—I do not believe you fit in that category,”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’m so different from you: I made a terrible mistake and live with the consequences,” spoke Hermione sadly, gazing at the flickering flames in the grate. “Maybe if I were a Muggle it wouldn’t matter so much. I could make new friends. But the Wizarding community is so small…”

“Not everyone knows or cares.”

Hermione didn’t want to start an argument, so she shrugged again. 

A heavy silence filled the room. She could feel Snape’s dark, probing eyes staring at her, and suddenly the the air felt stuffy, the music grating, the fairies too cheery. 

She stood up. 

“I think I should go,” she said, placing her cup back on the table. “Thank you for the tea and company.”

A hand on her shoulder stopped her when she reached the door. She’d not even heard Snape rise from his chair. 

She looked upwards warily, only to notice a bundle of green twigs and white berries floating above Snape’s head. She swallowed, turning to face him directly. His dark eyes stared at her, no longer cold. They were bottomless; she couldn’t tell exactly what emotions were inside them—perhaps there were too many. He said nothing, only his hand remained on her shoulder, burning a hole into her skin. 

“Th—there’s mistletoe," squeaked Hermione, unsure of what else to say. A blush spread up her cheeks as a wave of heat fanned down to her toes. Her feet felt glued to the floor. 

She knew she should move, shouldn't give him the impression that she wanted to kiss him there, except the roiling feeling in her belly and her pounding heart kept her in place.

“You have no reason to hide, Hermione," Snape whispered. 

"Neither do you," breathed Hermione in reply. She licked her lips, suddenly parched. Her nerves were ringing; her heart felt like it was the drummer in a heavy metal band. 

A pale hand lifted gracefully, black wool hiding a strong yet delicate forearm.

Hermione stopped breathing when two fingers touched her cheek, as gently as a piece of down, running backwards along her cheekbone and then tucking a strand of curling chestnut hair behind her ear. His fingers paused there, then drew down her jaw in a caress.

A dark eyebrow arched upwards in a question. Hermione swallowed and felt herself nod imperceptibly, not really knowing why—only there was mistletoe, and Severus had been kind to her, and his body was so strong and warm, and she wanted to move closer…

His kiss fell upon her like a songbird alighting on grass wet with dew, landing lightly against her lips with a warm puff of air and gentle feet. Her eyes fluttered closed, folding against her skin in dark half-moons.

His fingers brushed back into her hair once more, and her own found the fold of fabric that covered his neck.

Severus's mouth lingered by hers as he pulled away, their eyes opening to stare at one another as if looking for the first time. 

"Happy Christmas," said Snape lowly, drawing upwards slowly, his fingers brushing over her jaw as he pulled away.

"Happy Christmas," whispered Hermione, her heart still pounding in her ears. Her hands fell to her sides. She didn’t really want to move, but it seemed like a goodbye somehow, so she turned and went through the door. 

She felt stunned, her brain nothing but a heap of puffy clouds as her feet travelled back down the hall. Her lips still tingled where Snape had kissed her, and she smiled as she stepped out onto the landing. 

Loud voices from the sitting room pulled her attention towards the open double doors. She could see most of the room, which was filled with Christmas decorations and a festive looking tree along with a dozen or so people. 

Several ginger heads turned to face her as she stood frozen on the landing; none of them smiled. Harry’s lips rose tentatively, and he waved, eyes flicking nervously to his side. Ginny was next to him, a swaddled baby in her arms. 

Hermione’s heart went from fast to racing. Her lungs ceased to function. 

“Hermione,” came a deep voice from behind her, but it didn’t register amidst her panic. She could only sense everyone’s eyes as they stared at her across the landing. 

It was as if she were the guilty on trial. 

So she did the only thing she felt she could do other than fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness once more: she fled. 

She didn’t even bother to grab her cloak, the only thought in her mind, “get home.” Her feet didn’t stop until she pushed through her front door. 

Safely locked inside her flat, her panic fading, she ran her fingers over her lips and smiled.


	2. Fireworks

**Chapter 2: Fireworks**

Hermione’s heartbeat quickened with each step she took towards the great front doors of Hogwarts. It was New Year’s Eve, and she’d agreed to attend another party; the thing was, Minerva hadn’t had to threaten her this time. 

She’d spent the last six days pondering her kiss with the man who had since become Severus in her mind: what it meant, if he enjoyed it as much as she did, what might have happened next if she hadn’t left… and just how the hell she’d ended up kissing him in the first place. 

The only thing she knew for certain was that she wanted the chance to kiss him again. Hence why she was now trudging up the drive to Hogwarts. 

A few hundred metres in front of the large entrance doors, her rapidly beating heart forced her feet to detour down the hill towards the lake. 

“Just a short walk around the lake before I go in,” she muttered to herself, not feeling much like a Gryffindor. 

She picked her way carefully through the snow, her boots crunching as she stepped. The lake was dark and glassy, a trail of moonlight running across its length. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice the shadow standing under the old beech tree by the lakeside. 

“I don’t know why you come to parties if you are only going to skive off when you arrive,” came a low voice, startling her. She went for her wand, only to trip over the hem of her cloak and land flat on her arse with a loud squeak. 

Severus appeared above her, his dark hair covering the edges of his face, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was suppressing a smile. 

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me,” Hermione huffed, unable to stop her lips from curving upwards.

Severus only smirked and stuck out a gloved hand. Hermione took it, allowing him to hoist her to standing; he was surprisingly strong. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, brushing herself off. She looked up at Severus, who was gazing at her intently. A blush crawled up her cheeks. “Er… what are you doing down here?”

Severus moved beneath the beech tree, leaning back against the trunk. His dark eyes matched the lake, black and bottomless. 

“Thinking,” he answered.

Hermione moved next to him, peering up at his profile. She swallowed, her heart beating as if she was walking up a steep hill. 

“Would you like some company while you walk?” Severus asked, glancing down at her. 

Hermione smiled. “Sure.”

The pair meandered by the lakeside, their voices quiet in the chill night air. Before long they had circled the lake and cut into the edge of the Forbidden Forest, taking a path mostly used by Hagrid and deer. It was dark, and Hermione conjured several silvery globes that hung in the air around them to light their way. 

The trail was too narrow for them to walk side-by-side, so Hermione fell in behind Severus, letting his long strides lead the way. 

“So, back by the lake, what were you thinking about?” she asked as the path turned to skirt along the edge of a clearing beyond which sat Hagrid’s hut. 

“Several things, but mostly whether or not I might see you again tonight.”

Hermione stopped, her feet sticking to the path as her heart jumped into her throat. Severus got several metres in front of her before he turned around with furrowed brows. His hands in his pockets, he backtracked until he stood in front of her. 

“Why have you stopped?” 

“I… um…” Hermione stammered. She let out a ragged breath. “Did you… did you want to see me tonight?”

Severus’s lips curled into a small smile. He took a step closer to her. “I was hoping you might be my midnight kiss.”

“Oh,” Hermione squeaked, blushing from her hairline down to her nether regions. “I—well—I’d like that.”

Her eyes drifted upwards, and she giggled as she spied a clump of chartreuse leaves and silver berries hanging from the bare branches of the tree above them.

“What’s so funny?”

Hermione pointed. “It’s mistletoe,” she explained with a grin, a warmth blooming between her thighs. “I guess that means we don’t have to wait until midnight.”

A loud bang sounded from the castle, but Hermione barely heard it. She was busy drowning in the depths of Severus's eyes, the silver glow of the orbs around them reflecting like a dozen moons in the pools of blackness.

"Happy New Year," he rumbled softly as green and red flashes reflected off the windows of Hagrid’s hut and danced over the trees. “Combined with the mistletoe, I believe that means two kisses.” 

Severus did not wait, but closed the gap between them, curling his arms around her waist and kissing her roughly. Hermione moaned, her fingers curling around his shoulders, pressing into taut muscles and flesh. Their tongues quickly entwined, and she tasted him hungrily. The popping of fireworks echoed the frantic pace of her pulse. 

Hermione was panting when he pulled away, her body on fire. 

“One,” purred Severus, his mouth still tantalisingly close. She could feel his breath puffing against her cheek. A hand at the small of her back pressed her more firmly against him. She struggled not to rub her crotch against his thigh. 

A kiss against her jaw made her gasp, and she nearly melted when he whispered in her ear, “May I suggest a different location for our second?”

He pulled backwards, locking eyes, his eyebrows lifted in question. Orange and red light pulsed over the trees.

“Wh—where did you have in mind?”

Severus’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, his chin motioning towards Hagrid’s hut, its windows dark except for the reflection of the fireworks.

“Somewhere a little more private.”

Hermione shifted in his arms, her fingers picking at the buttons on his cloak. “What if Hagrid comes back?”

“Assuming Hagrid still entertains the same traditions as he did for the nearly 20 years I worked here, he and Mister Filch will be occupied down at the Three Broomsticks for another two hours yet.”

What sounded like machine-gun fire signalled the finale, the fireworks blooming overhead. Hermione saw none of them, captivated as she was by Severus’s question and the the thrumming of her body against his. 

“What you do think, Hermione?” He smoothed his hands over her back, one coming up to play with the curly tendrils of her hair. “If you don’t want more just yet, simply say so. As I believe history has shown, I am an extremely patient man.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, her lips curling upwards. Lust roared through her veins, tangling with her blood. She pressed her hips forward, watched his eyelids flutter as she felt his manhood rubbing against her. “I’m afraid patience is not one of my virtues.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked quickly to Hagrid’s hut. A simple Alohomora let them inside. 

The familiar room was dark, but Hermione could still make out the patchwork quilt laying over the enormous bed in the corner. Peeling off her scarf, cloak, and boots, she allowed herself to stare at Severus’s arse as he bent to light the fire. When he turned back towards her, she was wearing only her robes.

Severus flicked his wand towards the door, which glowed for a moment. “Just in case,” he said with a twitch of his lips before putting his wand in his pocket and taking off his cloak, which he folded over the back of one of Hagrid’s chairs. 

Two long strides had his arms around her waist once more. Hermione’s breasts heaved as they pressed into his chest. 

“Did you… At Christmas… did you know this would happen?” Hermione stumbled, suddenly nervous. 

“No,” said Severus in a velvety rumble. “I suppose being a Slytherin I should have had some cunning plan to seduce you, but I’m afraid what happened between us was entirely the result of instinct.”

“Instinct?” 

A predatory smile showed Severus’s teeth. A hand lifted to her shoulder, his long fingers carding into her hair, pushing it back and bending her head to expose her neck. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as she felt his breath caress her jaw, his hair tickling her chin. Her nerves jumped, ever so eager to feel his flesh against hers once more. 

“Like a lion spying his mate,” he purred into her ear, then grazed his teeth down the column of muscle down her neck. A breathy moan escaped Hermione’s throat.

“And what about now?” she asked in a whisper, feeling his lips curl upwards against her neck. 

“Now I want to claim you for my own.”

“Okay,” was all Hermione could say as Severus began kissing and nibbling up her neck and over her jaw. Her body felt heavy in Severus’s arms, pliant, as if it ceased to have a will other than what Severus demanded of it, which at the moment was staying still as he undid the buttons of her robes. 

He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin, then stood and pushed her backwards until her legs thumped against the side of Hagrid’s bed. Hoisting her skirt, he lifted her robes in a smooth motion up over her head, dropping them with a graceful hand on the floor. 

Wearing only a lacy black bra and matching thong, she looked up, saw his eyes glittering down at her. 

“Merlin, you really _have_ been hiding, Hermione,” he said, his voice a primal rumble that went straight to her core. Her eyes were glued to him as he disrobed, her nerves thrumming impatiently as his his flat stomach and wiry arms and legs were exposed before her. His large erection stood out proudly beneath his boxers. 

She nearly lost it when his bare hands connected with her flesh. 

“Severus,” she whispered, needy. Her fingers pushed into the hair at the back of his head, pulling him towards her. 

Their lips met for the third time in a frantic, passionate kiss that did not break as they crawled backwards onto the bed until Severus was lying over her. Her hands ran over his torso, desperate to feel as much of his skin as possible. Severus’s head buried into her shoulder, biting at her clavicle, his hips grinding between her thighs.

Finding her fingers at the waistband of his boxers, she pushed them downwards, squeezing his arse. Severus growled, lifting over her, his eyes flashing; he was dark and beautiful, all power and strength, ready to claim what was rightfully his according to nature. Hermione’s hands fell to the mattress, ready, wanting.

A large hand pulled the lacy cup of her bra down to expose a rounded breast, its nipple pebbled and aching. He gripped her flesh roughly as he dipped his head to suckle it, making Hermione writhe and scream in pleasure. He didn’t bother with the other before turning her over, flicking open the clasp, and then running his tongue down her spine. He nipped at her buttocks. A hand threaded between her thighs to cup her mound, and Hermione squirmed against it eagerly. 

She whimpered as she felt the fabric of her knickers get pushed aside, a single digit running over her damp outer lips. She lifted her hips, bent her spine to give him greater access. 

Fingernails scraped over her skin as her underwear was drawn downwards to her knees, and then his fingers were plying at her folds again. One hand pressed against her back, holding her down, while the other found her aching clit. 

“Oh, fuck,” she swore as he rubbed small circles over it, then slipped a single finger inside her. Her hips rose, her body straining against his touch, wanting more. “Severus,” she pleaded. 

He flipped her over again, and her eyes immediately locked on his naked cock. Her knickers were pulled free from her legs, her bra plucked from her chest and tossed across the room. 

His mouth descended on her breasts again, then to her mouth. A hand positioned his erection over her entrance, and then his fingers were dragging up her sides, lifting her arms over her head. His hands curled around her wrists, pinning them where they lay.

Her chest heaved. Severus stared down at her, a wild animal. 

“My lioness,” he purred, and then he thrust himself deeply inside her, making her scream. “Oh, yes…”

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” was all Hermione could moan as Severus began pounding her. Her legs curled around his hips, and her tongue eagerly tangled with his as his mouth descended on hers once more. The room filled with echoes of flesh slapping against flesh.

Hermione squeaked when Severus pulled out and roughly spun her again, landing on her hands and knees, and she only waited a moment before he was inside her again, thrusting wildly. His hands held her hips with a firm grip, his back arching forward to bite her shoulder blades. Hermione moaned and screamed, the sharp jolts of his teeth only amplifying her arousal. 

“Severus,” she panted. “Fuck… fuck!” she screamed as an orgasm was ripped from her, her body shuddering and light blooming under closed eyelids. 

“Yes…” Severus hissed, the pace of his hips relentless. His hands moved to grip her breasts, using them to pull her body back against his. “You… feel… so… fucking… good…” Severus growled in time with his thrusts. 

Hermione could only moan in reply as another orgasm exploded through her body. 

“I’m going to come,” hissed Severus, the pace of his hips become frenzied.

“Please… please come inside me,” moaned Hermione. 

“Fuck… yes… yes… fuuuuuuuuuck!” Severus groaned, and then his seed was shooting inside her with quick thrusts. 

Severus held himself firmly in her hold until he was empty, his breathing ragged and heavy. Aftershocks of her own orgasms coursed through Hermione’s body, and she collapsed forward onto her arms. 

“Oh, fuck,” she swore, not sure if she would ever recover, or if she wanted to. 

She felt Severus pull his softening member from her, and was about shift when he commanded, “don’t move.” 

Two fingers ran between her lower lips, then pushed inside her. She could feel their juices dripping over her labia and down her thighs. 

“Fuck, that is so hot,” he growled, nipping at the crease between her arse and thighs. Hermione grinned, pleased to have him continue to play with her sex; it certainly wasn’t something she was used to, most men losing interest as soon as they finished. 

Severus, however, continued to swirl his fingers inside her, occasionally taking them out to nudge against her clit. Hermione looked over her shoulder to find Severus completely entranced with her. 

His eyes flashed upwards. “I’m afraid I’m a little unwilling to let you go now that I’ve claimed you.”

“That’s fine,” replied Hermione. “I—Uhhhh!” Severus pumped his fingers against her g-spot, making her back arch. He pulled them out again, this time drawing them upwards to press against her puckered hole, making her tense. 

“Have you ever had a man take you anally, Hermione?” he asked, his first knuckle now inside her. 

“No,” Hermione gasped. 

“Hrm… maybe something for next time, then,” he purred, slowly pushing in and out of her a few times before pulling his finger away. 

He moved up the bed to lie next to her, tugging at her torso until she lay on her side facing him. 

“Next time?” Hermione asked, her arms curled in front of her against his chest. 

“If I haven’t made it clear before now, I have no intention of letting you go.”

Hermione flushed, grinning. An arm about her waist pulled her closer, and Severus dipped his head to lead them in a languid, exploring kiss. Hermione sighed softly, resting her forehead under his chin when it ended. 

“We don’t have to wait for a party for there to be a next time, do we?” she asked.

Severus snorted. “If we do, they will be at my house nightly, and the guest list will contain only your name and mine.”

“That sounds like a party I’d be happy to attend.”


End file.
